Dancing Alone
by NCEITFOA
Summary: Dancing was an enjoyable, if difficult, pass time to master which indelibly left its mark on some part of him. Some fun in the backyard was certainly a fine place for a demonstration. If he'd learned one thing it was that dancing alone meant you'd never step on someone's toes, but stepping on someone's toes was still better than dancing alone. Pointless Fluff. Bittersweet.
1. Dancing Alone

**Dancing Alone:**

 _Morrison Abebe:_

The backyard made as good a place for a dance as any hall or opulent floor when it came down to it. Said less eloquently; beggars can't be choosers.

The sun was shining, yet also setting, and the day was luckily warm enough that they could probably stay out till the first hours of moonlight without having to break out the thermal blankets and warm woollen clothing. That depended on if the wind picked up, naturally, but for the time being at least an optimistic projection of 'nice evening isn't it?' Seemed fair.

He was dancing, by someone's definition of the word, and she was watching. It was nice.

"One and two, and one and two and…" Although he hardly needed to count aloud to keep his rhythm anymore he found, even now, that it still somehow made the entire process feel somehow safer. He'd started using it as a substitute for the lack of a partner to dance with a while ago, filling the void which normally would have been filled by the sight of another person in front of him focusing equally hard.

 _Your left foot always first, then your right and remember that's your left not mine_ , was a mantra so deeply caved into his skull (by more than a few literal blows to his skull) that, at this point, he doubted he'd be able to expunge it from his memory with anything short of a sledgehammer. He'd tried softer methods of forgetting already but those had all, to put it mildly, failed.

Not, he would sometimes laugh mentally to himself, that failure was anything new for him. In the story of his life failures tended to have some pretty fierce competition for recognition.

"Then step and spin and…" with a display of coordination which was actually so unlike his normal bumbling demeanour that it almost seemed jarring to watch, he finished his dance, breathing more heavily than he'd thought he would, and remembering exactly why dancing had made such good fitness training.

"And that's- "

"Yay! That was so good Morry, so cool~" whatever he'd wanted to say was lost in the excited high pitched squeal and erratic applause of the woman watching, her eyes beaming with the sort of brightness and pride that mothers uniquely reserved for their children. It was the sort of pride which made clear that the actual objective quality of what was performed wasn't really being commented on at all since he could have fallen flat on his face and she still would have likely applauded it.

It was embarrassing. His mouth opened as he tried to sputter out a deflection;

"N-nah it's just a little something I learned, nothing special mom," he muttered, face turning red from a mixture of humility, relief and fatigue. As deflections went it probably wouldn't have been judged particularly well, deflection was one of his many weak points, but it also served its function so there was no point splitting hairs about it.

"You know…it didn't look to complex actually, hmm~" She pursed her lips contemplatively, ignoring his faux humility as she often chose to do, her one finger still tapping in time to his rhythm upon her knee.

He knew where this was going and, supplementary to that, he also knew he wasn't going to like where this was going to go so, in order to stop it, this, going to the place he was scared it was going to go, he quickly made his way to where she sat on the porch, talking rapidly in an attempt to drown out the suggestion he knew she'd be making soon;

"Oh well its actually a lot harder than it looks trust me, I still can't really get it right alone, and I'm always stepping on her toes-"

"Do you think you could show me how to do it Morry? With a few lessons, you think?" That was it, now it had officially gone where he didn't want it to go.

"Uhhhh," was his oh-so-coherent response as he near gulped his own Adam's apple down, with visible consternation written all over his face.

'Now what?' Was a pretty succinct translation of both his expression and thoughts as Morrison's characteristic combination of awkwardness, anxiety and paranoia all jostled to be the one making him feel worst.

Obviously strenuous physical activity of any sort wasn't advisable for a frail woman still recovering from heart surgery, Morrison didn't have to be smart to know that, and yet at the same time there was already such a comprehensive list of activities she was medically precluded from, this list was in fact provided by smart people, that Morrison couldn't help but feel horrible if he were to add to it. Of course paranoia, his bed mate and metaphorical devil-on-the-shoulder from the moment he'd come back home, made sure to chime in, reminding him that if he did say yes, and something awful did happen (however slim the odds might be) he'd always have to live with the knowledge the he could have said no.

So what did he do? Ifs and buts would always have a point, he couldn't just dismiss them since they were usually right, but at the same time to live life ruled by them meant accepting that you'd never really do anything…or at least that's what he'd been told by someone a long time ago.

 _You have to get off your ass sometimes, if all you do is hide under your blanket you aren't really living much now are you, eh?_

It was disconcerting to remember her advice twice in one day, even if it was correct, but for now he brushed off the feeling in his chest, either out of confidence that it wouldn't get too bad this time or, otherwise, because of a masochistic desire to feel something again.

"Alright but…we're gonna take it easy okay? Nothing hectic mom, it's getting late anyway so I don't want to stay out for much longer, does that sound good?" He gave her one of his resigned smiles, the sort he'd gotten very good at giving in his last year at the Genetics Institute, using the one genuinely intelligent trick he did know; framing his desire to stop as not being because of her health but because of his desire not to get cold, allowing her to agree without feeling like she was being coddled by her teenage son and her teenage son to get out of worrying over her health. It was a rare win-win deception for the two of them.

"Mmm-hmm, sounds good, but be nice Morry, I haven't danced in, like, ages and I've never danced any of these hip new stuff you see on the tv," she said, her excitement plain, as she began rising from the porch, earning an ironic snort from Morrison.

He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone worse at something than he was but, then again, he supposed it made some sense for son to take after mother.

She stumbled, for a fraction of a second, and Morrison lurched forward almost instantly, the apprehension he'd suitably battled down before conceding to his mother's request almost instantly retaking all the ground it'd lost inside him as he bit worryingly at his bottom lip.

"Nothing to worry about Morry, just a steep step," she was on the grass now too, approaching him, a bit of a clip to her tone as he saw the familiar rebuke in her eyes. But she had learned to accept that him stopping to panic over every little detail was about as realistic an expectation as his desire for her to stop trying out new things. They had learned to live with the parts they didn't like.

"So…how do we start…?"

Yes, how do we start? It was a valid question, a bit of an unexpected one too even though Morrison really should have expected it. The problem was, or rather, the truth was he simply hadn't danced with a partner in about…well…

He shook his head to avoid recalling the length of time since the last times as, by definition, that would require his mind to retrace the steps to the dance in question and, inextricably linked to that, then further the matter of why it had been his last dance with a partner.

There was definitely a feeling in his chest now, it wasn't really one he could ignore anymore, but because he was an idiot, and in general just very bad at everything, he tried to ignore it anyway and simply continue on, a strategy some might recognize as the classical ostrich 'If I stick my head in the sand nothing can get me right?' stratagem.

"Well, first I take your hand like this, then…" the initial explanation was more technical than she probably expected, which was actually somewhat similar to how he'd felt the first time it'd been explained to him as well, and he rushed through it to avoid her unamused expression;

"C'mon Morry, enough talk, let's do it," and that was about the rub of it really.

So with a deep breath and a mental _'here we go'_ they clasped hands took a step forward, incorrect at first but she got it on the second try, and went at it.

It would be a lie to say the dance was 'good' seeing as it largely consisted of the exact same three steps repeated endlessly in a circle, and even then she struggled to keep the tempo he was trying to set, but at the very least the only audience present seemed to be enjoying it and, by a certain measure, perhaps that was all it took to qualify as 'good'. Participation ribbons and all that.

"Wow Mom, you're so good at this," he praised, smiling, as he chuckled a little, consciously making sure to not go too fast, and stepping lightly about her toes.

"What? You say that like you're surprised?" She asked, jokingly, as she gave him a wink and ignored his conscious attempts at slowing their pace down and instead tried to pull him along with her at an even faster pace.

"I'm not a kid Morry, c'mon, let's go faster," the enthusiasm in her voice was infectious and, despite paranoia's insistent attempts otherwise, he couldn't help but feel his own smile broaden as he twirled about her faster, enjoying the comfort that came from having a partner in the dance.

Dancing alone certainly made it impossible to step on someone else's toes but, he'd come to realize, stepping on toes was preferable to dancing alone.

The technical aspects of the 'dance', which was perhaps a generous description of what Morrison and his mother were doing anyway, were now completely lost and in its place two amateurs were largely just moving around in each other's presence with smiles, chuckles and self-deprecating humour.

"See? I'm a natural, I haven't even stepped on your toes once yet," she laughed.

 _Don't get angry if I step on your toes._

* * *

 _I really am absolutely worthless._

* * *

To Morrison's credit he did not collapse as he normally did when consumed with his panic attacks, nor did he bolt off towards his hiding place as was his other proclivity in such a situation.

Perhaps because of the overriding paranoia he felt around his mother at all times the sudden feeling of air escaping his lungs, of ice in his veins and dizziness was largely concealed beneath a frozen smile and a tighter grip.

In a stroke of pure coincidence, it seemed, shortly afterwards his mother had finally reached the end of her enthusiasm and, with a noticeably heavier breath, she slowly came to a halt, arms drooping to her side, smiling down at her son;

"Enough for today, huh? We should probably get inside anyway so you can take your- "He stopped, surprised, when she suddenly leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close against her body and allowing him to rest his chin on her shoulder. It reminded him, suddenly, of younger days, when his mother still had to work, and lying on her stomach late at night after her shifts finally ended, struggling to hear even the faintest heartbeat.

"You're okay, Morry?" It was a question but, as any good mother knew, said in a tone meant to make it a statement and dissuade doubt. Although it certainly didn't suddenly cause his panic to subside or vanish, if it was that easy to remove he wouldn't need medication and he wouldn't have needed a tutor to get through his basic courses in the Genetics Institute, it certainly helped ease his breathing.

But he was still very glad for it.

"Mhmm-hmm," he agreed, the guttural noise conveying a clearer message then he could with words at that moment, as he buried his face into his mother's shoulder to hide it from the world.

 _~Last Dance_

* * *

NCEITFOA: And no doubt this is one of the strangest, if not the strangest Freezing Fanfiction anyone will ever write/read. Focusing on some bizarre minor character I doubt most Freezing Fans even know and his suffering.

Quick info dump since I presume many will not know; Morrison Abebe is(was) Arnett McMillan's Limiter Partner and was an incredibly insecure and paranoid boy with enormous anxiety and self-worth issues. He became a Limiter to pay for his mother's medication as she suffered from a severe heart disease (no father is ever mentioned at all so, logically, I'm assuming he's either dead or simply never stayed) and in a side story it was revealed that he and his mother are incredibly close to each other.

Anyway since I like to explain the story behind why I write, and there is almost always a story behind why I write since my writing is intimately linked to my feelings, I'll give a summary of what motivated this;

Odd as it might seem I really enjoyed Freezing's decision to have a plurality of couples. I like that, really like it, it is one of my all-time favourite thing if a story can pull it off. In Freezing I adored the Pair Love Stories as well and particularly liked Arnett and Morrison's chapters.

So I was really depressed with the recent developments in the main manga, from 196+ if you want to check, pretty much spelling the end for any relationship which doesn't revolve around Kazuya. Really, really, really, really depressed. *sigh* So I wrote this as a sort of farewell to a couple I really liked and felt was very nastily sunk just to objectify women more.

Originally I was working on a series of one shots called; 'Sweet Nothings' which would pretty much be a chapter-per-a-couple of inane fun and fluff and I had gotten through Creo, Arnett and Attia when I read chapter 196 and lost all ability to write it. It's still sitting, half-completed, because some vague part of me hopes for a resolution I can enjoy but…since it is LDY I know that hope is possibly really dangerous.

Anyway I needed some way to deal with the tumult of emotion inside of me and so I wrote this. I doubt very many people will like it or read it (I think there's about four people who care about the Limiters other than Kazuya in all of the Freezing fandom) but I didn't really write it for any other reason than to express my emotions so I'm content.

As always I hope you enjoy and am open to any and all queries or questions (I don't bite) and would love to hear feedback from everyone.

Ciao!


	2. Extra-Ordinary

**Extra-Ordinary:**

 _Morrison Abebe:_

* * *

Even the drumming of his fingers on the table top couldn't drown out the 'thump thump' of his heart beating in his chest, the sound reverberating within his skull so loud he almost feared that everyone else could hear it.

He hated social functions, couldn't stand them, they always made him feel a little nauseous, not to mention self-conscious, and he could never shake the idea that everyone was laughing at him the moment he turned his back on them. He had trouble with dealing with groups of more than two people at a time, a restaurant filled of men and women was quite literally making him break out in a sweat.

 _Why was he doing this again?_

Of course that was a stupid question, or an obvious one at least, since he knew the answer already. He was here because it made his mother happy, because, more honestly, it would probably get her to stop nagging him to go out for at least the rest of the month, ample enough time to organize another such paltry offering to appease her parental concern.

She insisted he 'go out and meet people' he offered to attend these formalized get-togethers for lonely people seeking companionship. Or Speed Dating as everyone else called it.

He was, however, definitely not here to meet someone, least of all a female someone, which along with a below average everything was the big difference between him and the numerous other young men dressed in snappy suits present. To anyone who knew Morrison well, and admittedly that was a category which included him and his mother, such a notion was as inherently laughable as, to Morrison, it was terrifying.

He reached for the water, wisely provided by the function's organizers, and took a gulp, trying to steady his nerves. However, unsurprisingly, contemplating how terrifying something you were about to do is didn't exactly help you feel better about it, water or not.

 _Just a little bit, half-an-hour, then I'll stop by the cinema, watch a movie, and tell mom that I was here all evening, just got to endure it for a little bit,_

That thought did more to relax him than any amount of water and, for a moment at least, even helped ease his raspy breathing and unsightly perspiration. His scheme was, to his mind at least, more than full proof enough.

Feeling assured of his quick escape he took another look about the place, the restaurant serving as the venue for the event, and noted the people being moved into place, women and men being assigned across from each other, cards being read and other administrative minutiae occurring.

He'd been through this whole song and dance twice now, or something like that, but even so the world of Speed Dating still unnerved him. Even the name, 'Speed', was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn't help but think to himself; 'wasn't the point of dating to take it slow? To get to know more about each other? To be friends before you became more than friends?'

Admittedly his experience in this regard, dating, was rather limited…in fact even calling it limited might have been a generous way of stating; 'non-existent'. When it came to romantic relationships he had a single record under his belt and it was a record of dismal, one-sided failure.

The closest he'd ever come to a relationship with a member of the opposite sex, and his mother obviously didn't count, only even existed because the girl in question had pretty much strong-armed him into it, he'd just considered himself fortunate enough to be pulled along for the ride for as long as he was.

 _Oh…_

There it was again, that slow building feeling of trepidation, that mental imposition which made everything around him seem hazy as he confused things that 'could have been' with things that 'never were'.

Reflexively, and to comfort himself, his hand reach for his breast pocket, feeling the contours of the pill container inside it, satisfied that they were there if he needed them.

Not yet though. Not yet. He was, he hoped, getting better after all.

Footsteps and his first 'date' approached, he almost ran right then, as he prepared for the rest of the night. But he'd learned to act only mildly afraid when he felt totally terrified, one of those life skills he had picked up at Genetics, and thus instead prepared a shaky smile and feigned interest.

 _Here we go._

* * *

Soda, much preferable to water, helped whet his metaphorical whistle as he reclined back in the park bench later that same evening, the restaurant and his many accidental droppings of knives, forks, water glasses and himself forgotten.

All in all, it had been a more successful venture than the last two times, he wasn't sure but he thought one of them had actually smiled at a point. Of course whether said smile was directed at him or at the guy the table over was probably open to argument…probably the other guy but he was going to count it as his at least for tonight.

The second half of his plan for fooling his mother, he always felt guilty about that, had gone less smoothly;

As it turned out there were only romances, comedies, romantic-comedies and another blockbuster action film showing and, though it was true, that all he had needed was a way to pass about two hours' worth of time it was also true, if somewhat hard to believe, that Morrison did actually have some standards.

Or, alternatively, that he was picky about movies.

So here he was, sitting alone on a park bench at night, sipping on a can of cheap soda, it was hardly what he'd wanted to spend his supper doing, but the experience had been surprisingly revelatory in its own way.

He'd discovered that he actually remembered quite a few of the star constellations he'd learned about as a child.

He'd also discovered that he didn't have cry every time he was alone anymore…

 _That sounded way sadder then it should have…_

That idea alone brought a small chuckle.

Yeah, yeah he knew it sounded pathetic and all, sure, but 'good' and 'improvement' were relative concepts and when, like him, your benchmark was pretty low to begin with, even those things that seemed pretty pathetic to normal people could feel like pretty big improvements. He wasn't extraordinary, he could barely be described as ordinary, and so his achievements were appropriately the sort of things which to most people would seem ordinary.

 _I'm Extra-Ordinary,_ he couldn't help but giggle to himself a bit.

Of course that was just one explanation for it, the other was just that he was so desperate to feel some sort of happiness or worth again that he convinced himself that something that wasn't worth getting excited over…was.

It wasn't that he disliked feeling happy with his mom, or resented her for being the only thing in his life which even began to give him some sort of positive feeling, not at all, if anything she'd probably never be able to understand how important she'd been these past few years in helping him deal with his own insignificance, although that was probably true of mom's throughout history. But…but…on the other hand…

Pathetic or not, and he most definitely was, he also was still a person and, every now and then, unreasonable as it was, he wished he had something about himself, about his own life, originating out from him, to be happy about. He wished he could make himself happy or make himself proud or have something which made someone, not him or his mother, value him more then they valued someone else. It was a really selfish impulse, for sure, but it was also one he couldn't pretend he didn't have.

Also masturbating didn't count. That wasn't happiness, it was just about as close to a physical incarnation of the abstract concept of loneliness as a guy could get.

No, the real reason he would have preferred to watch a movie, and was beginning to realize he should have just done so, was because it'd keep his mind occupied. These days, exhausting as it was, that was about all he did, find stuff to take up his thoughts so that they didn't go back to, well, what they always went back to if he just dwelled on things.

Sure he understood that a by-product of this was that a lot of memories, good memories, happy memories, were being lost or diluted. Constantly turning away from them meant that, inevitably, his ability to recall them, his clarity concerning them, was also growing impaired. Then again if they weren't happy memories to begin with did it really matter if he forgot them? Wouldn't forgetting them, maybe, be sort of a positive?

He frowned, taking another sip, as he latched onto that thread, pulling on it to make the whole idea come apart. Because the truth was, obviously, that this wasn't the first time he'd had such a thought, or feeling, by any margin. Obviously that idea, that concept, 'shouldn't I just forget the stuff which makes me feel bad?' had occurred to him many times before, in different guises and shapes, sure, but the same basic idea remained the same.

It did have a sort of persuasiveness about it…but only when he didn't think about it too hard.

The truth was that now, just like every other time this idea had occurred to him, he knew that he wouldn't ever want to 'forget' what he went through with her, the good and the bad, or what he learnt from her.

In the end she didn't feel about him the way he felt about her, in love no one's right or wrong even if they hurt, and he couldn't and wouldn't hold that against her, he had no right to do so. She was happiest with someone else, drawn more powerfully to someone else. He'd been a speed bump on the way too her 'true love' he supposed.

Still he didn't want to forget any of it, beatings included, and he couldn't ever, and wouldn't want too, deny just how many important lessons she gave him.

If someone were to ask him; 'was it worth it?' well…he wasn't sure if he could really bring himself to say yes but, no matter what, he'd definitely say he'd do it again to be with her even for a little bit.

The beep-beeping of his phone's alarm drew him out of his reverie, thankfully, before his thoughts became any more morbid then they already were.

 _Whelp, two hours up, that should be enough to keep mom happy,_ he stretched out as he stood up, giving a sigh as he felt the tension flow out of his spine with a 'crack' noise in his neck.

* * *

NCEITFOA:

Rabbitz: Knowing that someone commiserates always helps me, thank you very much J I too hope, of course, for the best.

Mephiles: Thanks, I appreciate the compliment. Yeah those one-shots, man, I can't bring myself to delete them (yet!) but posting them just feels…pointless in light of recent developments to me. I would rule out that someday I might but…I wouldn't hold my breath either, sorry L

UltimaX: Ah! Well I'm glad you liked it. Personally I'd avoid the manga, if I could go back in time and warn my younger self to do so I certainly would, but of course your decision is up to you completely. The Anime's actually how I first got into it as well.

E.R Man: Thanks for the compliment :) Sorry if you didn't enjoy it, perhaps you prefer this sequel instalment, thought I'd assume not.

As for your point, well, we're all entitled to our own opinion so its fine that you disagree with me, but I have to admit I don't really see how you hold your position. Arnett explicitly made clear how much stronger her feelings for Kazuya are than her feelings for Morrison, not to mention Arnett is literally interacting and being more intimate with Kazuya than she's ever been with Morrison.

Maybe if she ever expressed emotion towards Morrison, the way she has towards Kazuya, I'd believe you but so long as she doesn't seem to really even care he exists, compared to religiously worshipping Kazuya as if he was her deity, I think there's a pretty clear disjoint in the value she places on them.

Thanks to everyone who left a review, I always enjoy speaking with fellow fans, and I hope you enjoy this, admittedly, low quality sequel.

Ciao! :)


	3. Counting Sheep

**Counting Sheep:**

 _Morrison Abebe:_

* * *

Counting sheep didn't do much to help him get to sleep faster;

 _Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…_

Which, in all fairness, did raise the question; why did he do it? Counting sheep, now, that is.

 _Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…_

The easy answer would be; "because Mom took my sleeping pills away again," and, though true in a very mechanical fashion, it was also evasive and he knew this.

He sighed, giving up on yet another attempt at counting the imaginary farm animals, turning on his side, pulling the blanket tighter, as if hoping somehow swapping positions on the bed physically would change his thoughts.

It didn't work.

His eyes blinked in the darkness, the longer they were open the more indistinct blackness began to morph and change into blobs of distinct proportions, slowly the room becoming recognizable as a series of dark silhouettes. He breathed in, mouth open, feeling the air rushing in…and then rushing out again as he exhaled open mouth. The tightness in his chest receded somewhat. It was a start. Other nights by now, deprived of his sleeping medicine, he might already have been sobbing.

'Time heals all wounds' it was true, even if a spiteful part of him wished it wasn't. Maybe it wasn't healing so much as the emotions just lost their strength. As time went he just didn't feel as he'd felt before. All he had left now were memories of those feelings, and an ache in his heart when he wished that, instead of memories, he could experience the real thing.

But he couldn't and he'd never be able to. He had to stop even thinking about the possibility of such outcomes…which was why he hated it when his mother took his sleeping pills. Deprived of them his brain was left to wander, to ponder, to think and, inevitably, to torment him.

 _Not again,_ he grumbled, turning now to lie flat on his stomach, burying his face into his pillow, almost as if he could suffocate the thoughts away.

Obviously, that didn't work either and, after a few moments of struggling to breath, he was forced to shift his face so that his nose wasn't squashed against the pillow. He sighed, but more comically now, _can't even get that right_ , he thought to himself with a bitter smile. Honestly, he didn't feel bad about his shortcomings anymore, well, most of them anyway, he'd already made peace with how useless a person he was long ago.

At least that's what he told himself.

So…returning to the original problem. Counting sheep didn't help him sleep because it kept him thinking, and as long as he was kept thinking there was always the danger of…thinking of her.

Even that, there, contemplating the possibility of thinking about her filled him with dread and caused his chest to seize up again, his heart beating faster, as he tried to distract himself. Distraction really was the only key because, if he tried to just clear or blank his mind, he knew it was inevitable she'd come to haunt him.

But if he kept his mind distracted all night long he often ended up only falling asleep by the time he was exhausted, which made waking up arduous and left him in a cycle of exhaustion, so he didn't want to spend another night up till 4am just so that he'd pass out from exhaustion-

 _Looking good, you clean up nicely, don't cha' know?_

But he'd learned a long time ago you can't fight fate. Morrison sighed, shifting in his bed till he was propped up against the headboard, his hand reaching for the digital tablet he kept by his nightstand, flipping it open and turning it on, the light briefly causing his eyes to squint with its brightness.

His finger began scrolling, _guess it'll be cute puppy videos again tonight_ , he found one to begin with, his finger hovering over it briefly as he contemplated perhaps actually facing his fears…

But then he clicked and began to watch, content in the knowledge that he always was, and always would be, just a worthless coward.

* * *

 **NCEITFOA:** Hello everyone, I'm back. Sorry for the LONG delay, I was very busy _

This is a very short one, but it was nighttime and seemed to mirror my own mood. Its a taster for my continuation thereof. So please don't be too harsh :D

Anyway as always enjoy and review if you want to. Now to answer the reviews lefts on the previous chapter;

 **E.R Man:** Okay, for the record, just to be absolutely clear, women do not feel 'fuzzy' when being raped, they do not feel 'attracted' to their rapist, they definitley do not feel like they want to be their rapist's 'servant' or feel irresistably drawn to their 'rapist'. Women don't enjoy being raped. They don't imagine themselves as servants before their master or fall to their knees at the idea!

Sorry if that is a little terse, I just really, REALLY hate the trope in anime and manga that a girl can be 'raped' until she 'loves' it and abandons someone she's spent years creating an intimate relationship with. The idea fills me with bile.

Now, Arnett did make that accusation, yes, but for the reasons above I don't see how its credible considering she also felt better than she's ever felt with Morrison from just a brief second with Kazuya. Not to mention her and Elizabeth are already over it and privately meeting with Kazuya to make him their leader. Arnett said Kazuya made her 'feel so good' and 'fuzzy' and 'servants before their rightful Master' not to mention she blushed around him, all things she's never even come close to doing for Morrison and, additional, Gengo's already said all Pandora will be irresistibly drawn to Kazuya and Kazuya's said he can control all Pandora!.

I appreciate your compliments about my writing skills though, thank you very much :) I am sorry it isn't to your liking, the story now. I don't see how this isn't canon. As long as it is canon that Arnett would chop of Morry's head with a smile if Kazuya asked her too I don't see how this isn't canon.

I would love to write a happy story about Morrison and Arnett, really I would, but I don't see how. Arnett hasn't so much as looked at Morrison in ages, she's never blushed around him or implied she feels anything good about him, but Arnett has made very explicit that she feels better than ever around Kazuya and she and Elizabeth want him to use his power more and be their leader. There's nothing for me to write Morrison/Arnett stuff about cause the manga provides little to no evidence for it, but the manga does provide a TON of evidence for Arnett (and all Pandora) being into Kazuya now.

I mean if you can give me something of substance, so something in the manga which at all shows Arnett has even an iota of an attraction to Morrison like she does have to Kazuya, I'd be willing to give it a try, but I haven't seen anything like that yet. _

 **Zanon:** Thank you, and, yes. I do feel I'm being way to hard on Morrison (I just felt like I was channeling the canon in that regard) :P But I do intend to be more positive in the following chapter, this chapter I think will be the last really harsh one. Sorry _

 **Rabbitz:** *Hugs* Its okay, I promise next chapter will be better, okay? :) Just wait patiently for it!


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